by Sarah Morgan
“If you ever want to talk—” He paused. “It doesn’t have to be to me. The hospital gave me the name of someone. A psychologist. I mentioned it a while back and you didn’t want to, but if you change your mind—”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” She couldn’t think of anything more awkward. No way could she tell anyone what was going on in her head. It was just too big. And there was no one she trusted. She couldn’t even write about this on her blog, and she spilled everything there. She called it The Real Teen, and talked about everything from periods to her views on global warming. It was anonymous, and that was so freeing. She wrote things she would never say aloud. Things she could never say to her dad, and things she could never say even to her friends. She’d done it for herself, and had been surprised to quickly gain a following. It had grown at a ridiculous rate, and now people left comments. Sometimes just an OMG I feel the same way, but occasionally a longer reply detailing the issues in her own life and telling Izzy how much her post had helped. It gave her a buzz to know she was helping people. She liked saying things that others were afraid to say. While her friends were posting selfies and talking about clothes and makeup, she talked about the serious stuff. Words had so much power. She didn’t understand how so few people seemed to get that.
She’d already decided she wanted to be a journalist. Not the sort that interviewed celebrities on red carpets about subjects that mattered to no one, but the sort who shone a light into dark corners. She wanted to tell truths and expose lies. She wanted to change the world.
Her father was watching her. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t.” She didn’t want him worrying about her. She didn’t want to be a burden.
“We should be talking about college. Maybe we should do a few campus visits.”
She tensed. “There’s plenty of time.” She didn’t tell him she was thinking of not going. She didn’t want to leave the family. “Can we talk about it another time?”
“Sure.” He hesitated. “It’s what your mom would have wanted.”
People didn’t always get what they wanted, did they? Except that, ironically, her mother usually had. Except for dying, of course. That hadn’t been part of her plan.
Her dad picked up the towels again. Izzy had a feeling he was looking for things to do.
“I’ll take these upstairs. Are you sure you want to cook for Flora?”
That was her name?
“I want to cook.” She’d show this woman that they were a close family. That there was no room for anyone else.
There was no way she was going to college. She was going to stay home and get a job so that she could keep an eye on things. Maybe she could monetize her blog or something. Other people did it. People got paid for waving stupid handbags in front of the camera. Why couldn’t she be paid for saying important stuff? People commenting on her blog admitted to things they never said in public. They were talking about things that were real. If she could get her traffic up, that would help. And employers liked people with real life experience.
“Thanks, Izzy.” Her dad reached out one more time to hug her and Izzy moved away. She didn’t trust herself not to crumble.
She saw the pain cross his face and felt her breath catch.
Was she a horrible person?
“Sorry. I need to get on, that’s all. I have to check Molly’s school bag for tomorrow, read to her and then I have an essay to do.”
“I’ll try to persuade her to let me read to her so you can have a break. I know I’m second best, but I’ll give it a go.”
“It’s okay.” She liked to feel needed and Molly’s love was like a balm.
“I’m worried you’re working too hard.”
“I like doing it.” She liked the fact that she was keeping things as normal as possible, even though it was far from the life they’d had. She liked being useful. Needed. Indispensable.
“I appreciate what you’re doing, and I’m pleased you’re going to meet Flora. And I’m not trying to replace Becca. I’m trying to keep living, one day at a time, which is all any of us can do.” He sounded tired. “Fortunately love isn’t finite. You don’t use it all up on one person. It’s like a river that keeps flowing.”
Some rivers dried up. And that was how she felt. She’d cried so much she felt permanently dehydrated. And her dad didn’t know half of what was going on in her head. He didn’t know all the stuff that had happened, and she couldn’t tell him.
“I’m not trying to erase your mother, Izzy. Far from it.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t think we deserve happiness? You don’t think your mom would have wanted us to be happy?”
Izzy didn’t know the answer to that. Her mother had always been the center of attention, always the star, whether it had been at a party or a school event. Becca Parker lit up every room she entered. People around her were dazzled by her brightness. Izzy had heard her parents described as a “beautiful couple,” and it was true they attracted attention wherever they went, and not just because her mother had always insisted on arriving late and last for everything. It had driven Izzy crazy, but she no longer remembered that. All she remembered was that everyone had paid attention to her mother.
“Everything is cool, but you should be careful.” She said it casually. “She’s probably after your money.”
“You think that’s the only reason a woman would want to be with me?” For the first time since he’d walked into the room, he smiled. “I’m not that bad a judge of character. Relax, Izzy. You’ll like her, and I know she’s going to like you. It’s all going to be fine.”
Seriously? He thought it was going to be fine?
This family was already a total mess, and he was planning on making the mess worse. Izzy wasn’t going to let that happen. She needed to keep this family together, no matter what. For herself, sure, but also for Molly. Molly relied on her, and Izzy wasn’t going to let her sister down.
Her objective wasn’t to make sure Flora liked her, it was to make sure the woman never wanted to set foot in the house again.
3
Flora
It was a relaxed dinner, that was all.
True, she’d changed her outfit three times, but that was because this evening was important. It was important, essential, that his daughters liked her, and she was confident she could make that happen. It helped that she had a pretty good idea of what they were going through. She hoped that, in time, she might even be able to help a little. She’d make it clear that she had no intention of disrupting their family or causing the slightest ripple in their safe, familiar world. Not for one moment did she think she could replace their mother, and she didn’t intend to try. She’d encourage them to think of her more as an older friend.
She imagined Molly, the younger, crawling onto her lap for a hug and Izzy being relieved to finally have someone to share those thoughts and feelings you could only share with another woman. Flora hadn’t had that. Her aunt hadn’t been the hugging type and their conversations had been focused on the practical. Even now Flora found it hard to talk about her feelings and she assumed it was because she’d had no practice. She’d been left to comfort herself, and figure things out for herself. She didn’t want that for Jack’s girls.
Was she jumping ahead of herself? Possibly, but where was the harm in dreaming a little?
Jack.
She thought, maybe, that she was falling in love and the idea terrified and excited her in equal amounts. Was he in love with her? She wasn’t sure, but she knew that if their relationship was going to move to the next level, then his daughters would have to love her, too.
Jack had made it clear they needed to take this slowly and be discreet. She was fine with that, and not just because of the girls. These feelings were new to her, too.
She’d dated occasionally over the past few years. Most notable had been Mr. Hedge Fund Manager who she’d met when she’d made the mistake of enrolling at an early morning yoga class. He’d been told by
his doctor to reduce his stress levels and so had decided on yoga, but hadn’t seemed to realize that Downward Dog wasn’t designed to allow you to take a closer look at your phone. The phone joined them for every date, sitting on the table during dinner like a chaperone. The only hedge she knew anything about was green and needed pruning, and despite her efforts she’d been unable to learn anything that equipped her to have an even vaguely knowledgeable conversation with the man. The relationship had gone downhill faster than the markets. Next had been Ray. Ray was a schoolteacher, passionate about basketball. Flora had endured eight games before he’d complained that she wasn’t “engaged.” She’d been affronted. She was the master at faking interest in something, and in this case she’d done her homework. She’d learned about the chest pass, the bounce pass and the outlet pass. She’d yelled and punched the air when he’d yelled and punched the air. She’d thought she’d mirrored his reactions, but he’d sensed something lacking under her carefully choreographed enthusiasm.
She knew now that what had been lacking was motivation. She hadn’t been motivated to make the relationship work. He’d been right. She hadn’t been engaged. Not with him, not with Mr. Hedge Fund. She’d tried to show interest in what they enjoyed, without revealing her own interests.
But now there was Jack. Smart, handsome, caring Jack. That first coffee had turned into lunch, and they’d started to meet regularly. Their friendship had deepened, warmer feelings creeping up on them stealthily and unannounced. She couldn’t quite remember when she’d first noticed the shift. Was it that day at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden when he’d taken her hand in his? Or their first kiss by the fountain in Central Park?
Flora had never had a relationship that she hadn’t had to work hard at, not with her aunt and not with boyfriends, so it was a revelation to discover that she could be herself with him. Not her whole self of course. There was still plenty he didn’t know about her, feelings she kept tightly packed away in storage inaccessible to all but her. No doubt there was also plenty she didn’t know about him but what she knew, she liked.
He seemed to know something about almost everything, so instead of typing her questions into a search engine she just asked Jack. They visited the Frick Collection and she didn’t bother with an audio guide because she had Jack telling her a little about everything in a way that brought the art to life. Her mother had possessed the same gift and that small connection seemed to pull them closer together like tiny invisible threads. They headed to the Bronx and visited the New York Botanical Garden, a place Flora had often visited with her mother. Here in this lush oasis, among the buds and blooms, she knew more than he did and he questioned her constantly. What was that flower? What climate did that particular tree like? What would she plant in a garden if she had one? He was the first man she’d dated to show an interest in who she was and what she enjoyed. And the interest was mutual. So far, she hadn’t had to take a crash course in any of his interests in order to keep the relationship alive. Jack worked in a senior tech role for a company that specialized in artificial intelligence, and his few attempts to describe what he did had made her eyes cross. Fortunately he didn’t seem to need to talk about his work when they were together and gradually she’d stopped her internet searches on “tech for beginners.”
It wasn’t as if they were short of conversation topics. The only subject off-limits for him was his wife. He talked about her in relation to the children, and how they were coping, but didn’t talk about his own emotions. She’d been sensitive, approaching the topic with the care of someone peeling the bandage from an open wound, but he’d shut her down gently and eventually she’d stopped asking. She respected the fact that there were things he didn’t want to talk about. She was the same.
But now she was about to meet his daughters and they, of course, were his biggest interest.
They’d talked about it just the day before, sitting close together on their favorite bench in the park. She never would have thought she could have experienced heart-racing, dizzy, romantic feelings in a park, but it turned out that it wasn’t where you were that mattered, it was who you were with. Whenever she was with Jack, the rest of the world vanished for her.
Physically it was all very low-key of course. Interlocked fingers, the hard pressure of his thigh against hers. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to be more than enough to send her brain and body into meltdown. She was so aware of him, her response vastly out of proportion to the limited, restrained contact they’d had. It made her feel better to know she had the same effect on him. She felt his tension, and saw the occasional flash of heat in his gaze. It wasn’t coincidence that they always met in public places. It was an unspoken acknowledgment that the only way to take this slowly was to impose certain restrictions on themselves.
“Are you nervous of meeting them?” He’d asked the question as they’d sat there, close together.
“The girls? A little.” She hadn’t wanted to lie to him. “I’m also excited. From what you’ve told me, they’re smart, interesting, special people.” And she loved the way he talked about them with such pride. It said a lot about his character that he was such an engaged father. She hoped his children knew how lucky they were.
What scared her most, if she was honest, wasn’t his girls, it was how much she wanted this relationship to work.
“You’re incredible, do you know that?” He’d taken her hand and pressed it to his thigh, making it hard for her to focus on the conversation.
“Me?”
“It would be too much for most people. Dating a man with two kids. Most people would run away from a ready-made family, but you’re so open and optimistic about everything.”
She wouldn’t have described herself as open. She was careful. Cautious. Protective of herself. But with Jack it was different.
Because she badly didn’t want this to end, she’d already quizzed him in-depth. She knew that Izzy wanted to be a journalist, and that Molly had loved to draw and dance, although she’d stopped both after Becca had died. Flora loved to draw and paint, too, so she was hoping that maybe, if she was careful, she might be able to persuade Molly to draw with her. Still, she knew she had to be careful not to push things. The pressure from her aunt to “get over it and move on” had stressed her enormously.
Shaking off the past, Flora paused at the end of the street clutching flowers and a bottle of homemade lemonade. Jack had said his daughter was making dinner, and Flora figured lemonade went with pretty much everything.
Not that she knew much about teenagers but she was impressed that Izzy was doing the cooking.
Had his wife been a good cook? Had she taught her daughter? Flora imagined her carefully selecting menus, and spending hours providing her children with balanced, healthy meals.
She braced herself against the ripple of insecurity that threatened to shake her optimism.
Jack wasn’t going to be measuring her against his wife, and neither were his children.
It had been less than a fifteen-minute subway ride from her apartment, but it felt like a million miles. This was Brooklyn’s most historic neighborhood, with wide, leafy streets and mesmerizing views of the Manhattan skyline across the East River. Now, in spring, blossom filled the sky with fragrant clouds, showering the cobbled streets with soft petals.
Checking the directions on her phone, she moved to one side to avoid a young girl on a scooter and smiled at the young mother who was running behind her, trying to keep up. It seemed like a family neighborhood, and considerably more upmarket than the area where she lived. On her way here, she’d walked past a couple of bistros and a boutique. She imagined living somewhere like this, picking up a bag of peaches on her way home, exchanging a laugh and a joke with a street vendor.
Even the names of the streets were charming. She’d passed Cranberry Street, Pineapple Street and Orange Street. People who lived here got their five a day just by walking around, she thought. Even the air felt fresher than it did in the center of Manhattan. The streets
outside her apartment mostly smelled of garbage.
She was ten minutes early. Did that matter?
Nerves were jumping around in the pit of her belly, but she always felt that way before seeing Jack.
A man striding past gave her a wide berth and she realized it was because she was smiling at nothing in particular.
Feeling positive, she walked up the steps and rang the bell.
One day, she promised herself, she was going to have a proper front door of her own. Maybe flanked by olive trees, or pots filled with trailing plants.
Jack opened the door. He was wearing jeans, and his shirt was open at the neck. His feet were bare and there was a hint of shadow on his jaw. Here in his own domain, he seemed younger and more relaxed.
“You found us okay?” His gaze connected with hers and she felt a searing flash of chemistry that almost knocked her off her feet. Feeling a little disorientated, she stepped into the house. His fingers brushed lightly against hers, sending a shimmer of heat coursing through her. For a wild moment she thought he was going to simply kick the door shut and drag her against him, but instead he closed the door with deliberate care, his arm braced against it as he took a steadying breath, steeling himself.
It was a moment before he turned to face her. The atmosphere was charged with tension. It had all the intensity of sex, without the actual sex.
She gave him a sympathetic smile and unfastened her coat. “How’s it going?”
“Nothing that a long, icy shower won’t cure. You look great in that dress.” He spoke in a low voice. “And I love your hair when it curls like that.”
“It’s a style I like to call ‘the indecisive.’” She handed him her coat. “I pulled my dress over my head so many times while trying to decide what to wear I produced enough electricity to power the whole borough.”
